


His Prodigal Son

by Yamagache



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: (will add more with new chapters), Bad Dreams, Broken Memories, Crying, Fear, Gen, Hyperventilating, Manipulation, Night Terrors, PTSD, Panic, Panic Attacks, Pills, Restraints, Vertigo - Freeform, puking, sleep deprived, tremors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 04:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamagache/pseuds/Yamagache
Summary: What an absolutely fantastic show about a broken boy just trying to get his shit together. With murder and mental illness sprinkled on top for mo flavour. I freakin LOVE this show.Because of said love, I’ll be writing a Fic for Every. Single. Episode. Not to hard to do when every episode is a literal prompt or teeming with inspiration.So that’s a Fic every week till Christmas baby!





	1. Bed Time Routine

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place right after the first episode ends. 
> 
> With Malcom walking away back turned from his fathers prison cell nervously squeezing the blue stress ball. With Martin starring at him whispering. “My son.” In a look that I can only describe as manipulative fondness. XD

The talk with Dr Whitley went as well as one would think when your father is a prolific serial killer holding all the answers to your burning questions. But who seems more preoccupied with bringing the “_team_” back together than answering any of them. 

What a ridiculous notion. Starting up that kind of partnership after it ended in such volatile way ten years ago. 

He couldn’t go back. What they had wasn’t a healthy relationship. If you told anyone else in the world that you periodically saw a man who killed Twenty-Three people and, for lack of a better word, was completely transfixed by it all. Curious with the way his mind worked. Learned everything about that darker side. Studied him until you could read every twitch he made. Every side eyed glance. To perfectly understand their intentions.

They would think you were crazy. 

But he wasn’t crazy. 

Broken, definitely. 

But not crazy. 

The pills made sure of that. And his overall will to be better than his father. 

—————

Walking into his apartment Malcom took his shoes off and draped his jacket over one of the hooks by the door. 

The solid smell of bird and cheap air refresher smacked him in the face when he first walked in. Which brought a familiarity he hadn't realized he missed. 

Dumping his keys on the nearby counter, Malcom palmed the blue stress ball a bit more until the uneasy feeling that came with thinking about his father crawled up the back of his neck. 

Flashes of his fragmented and repressed memories flickered in his mind like an unstable candle about to go out. 

The hobby room. 

The girl in the box. 

Calling the police. 

Gil.

Pieces not quite complete to tell a full story and things he wished he wouldn’t relive as many times as he did. Which not only reawakened the tremors in his hands but left a nasty headache. The frustration caused him to throw the foam ball across the room. 

The impact it made with the adjacent wall wasn’t very loud or impressive, but it was enough to get a few squawks from his parakeet, who was now thrumming around the cage in distress. 

“**It’s alright Sunshine. It’s only me**.” He spoke tenderly as he climbed the stairs to the cages level and slowly approached his friend. “**I’m terribly sorry if I spooked you. I promise it won’t happen again**.”

The little bird chirped and mused a bit more before settling back on its perch, shaking it’s entire body, sticking out it’s feathers to begin preening. 

Malcom couldn’t help but smile. But it quickly faded with a long drawn out sigh followed by his hands rubbing the exhaustion from his face. “**Ok**.” He whispered as he turned away from the cage and headed to the closet. 

Changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth were the easiest parts of his nightly routine. The few things he did that felt normal. Regular people change in to pajamas all the time. Brushing their teeth was also a normal thing to do. 

But the restraints on the bed, the mouth guard on the night stand, those were not. But the were necessary non the less. As Mother so uncandidly explained. “**Nightmares always did come with a seat belt**.”

Before climbing into bed Malcom noticed a small metal box with a note underneath. Shaking the tin square left a sound reminiscent of small pills bouncing around in the cavity of empty space. 

The small blue note only had a few words pen’d in neat cursive writing that could have only been reproduced by his mother. ‘_Only for emergencies_’. Speak of the devil. 

‘**Great**’ he thought. Mother had broken once again into his apartment. He really did need to get the locks changed. Not that it would stop her. 

Malcom placed the items on his night stand not wanting to think to much on what his mother would deem an emergency and replaced them with the guard that he then securely placed in his mouth. 

After clicking the first restraint around his wrist and turning to do the other, he peered at the clock and stared at the dimly lit light. 11:27pm. 

Securing the other hand he laid flat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. 

Nothing but the sounds of outdoor traffic coming from the window, the quiet hum from the ventilation, and the small pitter patter from the bird we’re the only sounds coming from the apartment. 

He laid there, thoughts swirling around about the hectic few days that had transpired as of late. 

Being fired from the FBI had been a real blow to his ego. Looking back on his behavior, he’d never admit it, but he understood why they did. Sure finding out about his familial connections he had to the surgeon was a secret he wished remained buried. But his attitude towards the evil he chased often left numerous police personnel looking to him unfavorably. 

He couldn’t help but feel for these incarnations of evil. He had spent the younger part of his life living with a monster and the other part devoting to learning about them. To a point where he could so perfectly in-tune himself with a deranged mind he could in a sense “_walk in there shoes_” which often scared them with how easy it was at times. 

Though his cocky attitude and superiority complex most assuredly did not help either. 

Then Gil, a man he would describe to be the closest thing to a replacement father, giving him the chance to do what he loved again. Profiling. Seeking out these broken individuals. 

He would have devoted his entire life to finding intricate ways to say thank you to Gill for everything he’d ever done for him, if he wasn’t so prideful. That and Malcom was pretty sure Gil was the type of man that used few words when it came to emotional talks. But few words would be held with heavy power. And so he’d settle with genuine smiles at he man, occasional endearing hugs and verbal affirmations of his thanks in moderation. 

Meeting his team mates for the first time had been interesting. Especially that Dani girl. There was a story there, but he didn’t feel quite “in with the group” enough to start asking personal questions. Not that he’d have any to ask the bigger fella. That guy definitely did not check all the boxes for intelligence. Not a neanderthal per-say but for sure the mentality of a jock or sorority meat head. 

Then there was the killer. A crazed super fan who idolized the Surgeon and his reign of abject horror so perverse, he’d be drawn to mimicking the famous murder’s four first big kills. The Quartet. 

Which led to him meeting his father for the first time in 10 years. Which as he recalled not too long ago just left him with not enough answers and more questions then he’d like to admit. 

His father was keeping something from him and Malcom was determined to figure it out. 

Which is why he sheepishly felt embarrassed for his earlier transgressions regarding the killer. For a moment. For a solitary second of weakness, he truly believed that death might some how fix how broken he felt. So willing to let go. To let the man inject him with poison and end it all there. 

It was a moment of weakness he’d never feel again. Determination to solve the puzzle that was himself, would be the driving force for his need to stay alive. 

-

All these thoughts rang through his head until his attention was brought back to reality. In the way of a sun beam that crept through the blinds And on to his face for a jarring wake up call. 

But he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. 

Groaning at the the realization of what sun beams through the window meant. Malcom once again turns to peer at the clock. 

_6:40am_

“**Shit**.”


	2. The Panic Settles In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place at the end of the episode again right after his visit with dear old dad, and Malcom gets a rude awakening and finally gets the conformation that yes, he was chloroformed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gunna lie. My personal knowledge with panic attacks is non existent. But I have read many fanfics regarding the subject and did online research and I think I came up with a happy middle ground. 
> 
> If I got anything wrong please let me know. 😊 Enjoy!

When Malcom walked back into his apartment a sudden wave of exhaustion he had been ignoring suddenly forced it’s way to the forefront of his attention. To such a degree that his knees buckled under the weight of his demons and he hit the wood floor with a solid _thunk_. 

The floor kept zooming in and out of focus and every attempt of looking around only furthered the feeling of being on a boat in the middle of a monsoon. 

How do you process finding out that your own father drugged you? Hearing it from the man himself. 

He quickly placed his hands over his eyes and just screamed. A scream that ripped through the air with the sounds of desperation and the power that would leave his throat feeling sore. All the built up frustration and fear getting to him. 

How long _had_ he been out? And what did that mean? “**_Be carful Malcom. If you didn’t call the cops after you found the girl, then how long did it take you to make that call?_**”

What had he done? “**_And why can’t you remember?_**”

What was his father doing during all that time? “**_How many other people died?_**”

His breath hitched at the mere thought of what could have transpired during the long dead space he called his past. 

How long _did_ his father drug him for? “**_Perhaps it’s better if you don’t remember._**”

Days? His chest felt tight. 

Weeks? Breathing short and quick. 

Months? The hyperventilating kicked in to overdrive. 

The sudden realization that he had no answers churned Malcoms stomach like a blender set on pulse. He spent his entire life devoting himself to knowledge so he’d never be vacuous. But he was and it was a personal ignorance. 

He needed to puke. 

Malcom ran to the bathroom and expelled everything he had eaten that day no matter how little it was. Arms hugging the bowl as tears escaped his eyes and met the mess inside. This had been one of the few moments he was grateful his mother had a cleaning lady come in and clean the entire house almost everyday. 

The bile sloshing on the waters surface had no discernable colors that would have given hint to what he had eaten. 

But it was brown bordering yellow and made his illness worse just looking at it. 

He gently laid on the bathroom floor, the cold tiles touching his forehead had a soothing effect and the added bonus of distracting his overworked mind when he noticed one of the tiles by the sink had a small crack. 

He tried focusing on that. Made an effort not to think of the thousands of alarming questions screaming in his head demanding answers. 

He could also hear the alarmed flapping of wings and fearful chirps from Sunshine. 

Malcom frowned. He had promised her that he wouldn’t scare her anymore. 

He couldn’t even do that much.

When the world stopped feeling like a carnival ride and the acid in his stomach died down to a low simmer, Malcom slowly picked himself of the floor. 

Not bothering to even look at the mirror knowing too well what he probably looked like. He just wasn’t in the mood to see his pale, dark eyes and matted hair staring back at him. 

He walked to the kitchen making small shushing noises trying to get the little bird to relax. “**I’m sorry. I know I promised I wouldn’t scare you anymore.**”

Malcom was frazzled enough, he didn’t need Sunshine to join in. 

He poured himself a glass of water and took small sips trying to get as close to normal as he usually felt. Walking towards the cage at the same time. 

He opened the cage slowly with every movement small and delicate as not to scare his lil friend. Pouring some of the water in the dish that laid in the back of the cage. It took some maneuvering and caused a large portion of his arm to be inside which Sunshine took as a trained acknowledgement that it was time to hop on. 

“**No that’s not what I...**” it was too late. Sunshine was perched on his wrist making small chirps that Malcom knew to be happy and a sign that she felt safe. 

Another sigh left his lips as he carefully pulled his arm out of the cage with the parakeet there for the ride. 

He slumped against the wall and slid down it till he was back to sitting on the floor. Just watching the bird walk around his arm unabashedly and chirping excitedly.

He gently placed a loving finger on top of her head and began scritching her top feathers. Which was met with closed eyes and a stillness that he knew meant she was enjoying it. 

Which just put him at such ease. Man he wished his fears and anxiety could just disappear that quickly. 

But petting the tiny creature that felt such trust in him, that she never even tried to escape, did feel very grounding.

He gave her a warm smile. 

“**What would I do without you.**”

So his father chloroformed him. 

If he wanted answers, Malcom knew what he had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending was written with the knowledge that I’ve seen the trailer for next weeks episode and it’s safe to say, Malcom will be chloroforming himself to get in a head space so he can remember what happened. 
> 
> Wether it works or not. We will see.


	3. Almond Milk and Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two short stories where Malcoms attention to detail saved the day twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so can we just talk about how in my first chapter Malcom talks about how changing the lock wouldn’t stop his mother? Only for episode 3 have him actually change the locks but that ends up not working cause she’s having none of it and threatening to kick him out?! Spooky! Also the whole scene where he falls out the window, my god.
> 
> Heads up right now, due to it being the holidays for us Canadians (thanksgiving) I’ve been busy with family so I just wrote a small Fic this time. If your also celebrating Happy Thanksgiving! 🍂💚

Malcom hadn’t been too involved with the “Police Car Vandal.” Not really up his alley and a bit tedious if he was to be honest. More importantly he wasn’t a police officer only a mere consultant so he had washed his hands of the unappealing work.

But boy was it important to Dani as Malcom learned when he walked into the precinct hoping for a new murder to solve only to almost get hit in the head with a pen.

It flew right across his head and hit the back wall as he entered one of the conference rooms with Dani tearing up photos of a vandalized car. “They’ve gone too far!” She yelled while tossing the ripped pieces into the near by trash can.

Malcom slowly made his way into the room. “Dani, are you ok?”

Dani turned around to see Malcom standing by the doorway looking at her with what she could only guess was genuine concern and maybe a little playfulness. Of course he wasn’t really taking any of this seriously. The guy was practically missing this whole week. Not sleeping obviously. The rings under his eyes ever present.

“No. I’m not. Another car’s been vandalized, some one I worked with, it was pretty colourful with its racist vocabulary.” She explained with a tinge of disgust towards the racism displayed in the photo’s. “Plus my favourite coffee shop stopped supplying almond milk, so now I’m not performing at my best.” 

Malcom shook his head as if he knew something the world didn’t. “I guessed you might be lactose intolerant.” 

After the weeks of working with Gils team there were a number of little quirks and rituals amongst his new partners that Malcom decided to memorize in the case they could be helpful to him someday.

“Yeah well I feel out of sync and I’m done for today.” Picking up her stuff off the table she walked passed Malcom without another glance. Not surprised in the least that he figured out her weakness. 

Malcom walked up to the processing board with all the information on display regarding the vandal. Just staring at all the pieces as if it were all one big puzzle. Until he found the missing piece. It was a small little thing that anyone who was focused would have found in no time. Especially Dani had she been “in sync”. 

—

When Dani came in the next morning she was not looking forward to another day with no answers. She hadn’t even bothered going to her usual joint for her cup of joe. There was no point after all.

But when she walked into the conference room there was coffee cup on the table along with a note.

The note reading. “Payed an errand boy to pick up your preferred drink and deliver it here every morning. Hope it keeps you “synced up”. Also your looking for a Matthew Hunter.”

She couldn’t help but smile when she opened the lid to a familiar scent of Coffee and Almonds. 

—

Another quirk Malcom noticed was that JT used one pen. And it wasn’t just any pen. It was one of those novelty seven year pens that NASA invented. It could be used in space, it was water proof and like advertised the ink would last for up to at least seven years. 

And by the look of the ware and tear from the metal stylus, Malcom had guessed it might’ve been on its last legs. 

Don’t ask him why he did it, cause he wouldn’t be able to come up with a plausible answer, but Malcom had bought an exact replica. Just in case he’d guess.

—

JT had a report to fill out on a recent B&E (breaking and entering) some poor kid dared by his “friends” to break in his principles house to retrieve a trophy. Not only did he not get the item but he got a pretty bad bite from the home owners Rottweiler. 

Feeling for the kid because in some crude way the stunt reminded him of his childhood. A backwards upbringing where Machismo and courage were praised while emotions and levelheadedness were reprimanded. He left the kid off with a warning. 

Though because he had done this without Gils permission in turn he used this as a good opportunity for JT to practice filling a report. Not just one, but eleven, one for each hour the department spent on that kids manhunt. All fake sure but they all had to be filled out as if it was the real thing.

JT spent the better part of that Saturday evening writing out what he considered a waste of his time. The man just wanted to go home and crack a cold one while watching the game.

Malcom was leaving when he heard the audible fricative leave his teammates mouth. “Shit.”

When he stepped into the conference room he witnessed JT aggressively whipping _the _pen up and down trying at no avail to get even a modicum of ink to release its metal vessel. “Aw, man.” He placed the pen on the table unsure of what to do.

“That’s _the_ special pen?” Malcom asked almost like it were more of a statement. JT returned it with an eye roll. “Why am I not surprised you know this thing is special to me?” JT kept a close eye as Malcom picked the pen up to make his own observations on its reliability. “I might not know why it’s special, I’m assuming a gift from a sibling? Maybe a parental figure? But I’ve seen this thing enough times to know you care about it.”

“Yeah well, it’s dead now.” But as he said that, Malcom pulled an exact replica of his pen from his pocket and handed it to him.

“Look man you can’t just replace years of memories with some version you probably got off eBay.”

Malcom was not listening at all when he began to unscrew the new pen and unearthed its ink cartridge and replacing it Into the older pen. “New ink same pen.” He stated while handing the pen once again to JT. 

“Um, thanks... still kinda weird you just had one laying on you like that though.” But Malcom just smiled and walked out of the room. 

JT would never admit how thankful he was but would be remised if he didn’t think the kid was still uber weird. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three episodes in and we still don’t know the Parakeets name. But it does seem to be brought up every episode so still holding on to hope lol.


	4. A Change In Career

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcom is in university. He’s been seeing his dad since he’d been taken away. Recently he’s been wondering if seeing his dad is actually super healthy or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again why do I wait till the last minute to post the chapter? Episode 5 literally plays tonight! 
> 
> Can we just appreciate the trailer they dropped on FOX’s YouTube channel for tonight’s episode!!
> 
> It’s everything I wanted. His delusions are getting worse and he’s unable to distinguish between reality and his brain tripping on probably all the meds he takes. My heart aches for this poor dude. Like when is he going to finally be aloud to get a good eight hours of sleep and maybe not recall horrible past memories regarding his father?
> 
> Ten o’clock can not come fast enough!

Malcom Bright was afraid of the dark.

His child therapist explained to Jessica that it was rational for a young child learning to live and cope with the horrors done on to him by his father and his dark past. It be normal for Malcom to be afraid of the dark.

Though his mother just wanted to know how to fix it quickly. She always seemed to imply as he got older that it was time he grew out of it. That’s the thing about society, about people, they all think they have some obligation to know how your head works and feel it’s their right to fix you, as if any form of coping is inconvenient.

—

“**If you want to talk…**” Malcom looks at the hand on his shoulder, it belongs to one of the thousand faces at his university. Just a kid in a large crowd of other kids all offering what they think is their help and what is really a reminder. A reminder that he can’t sleep without an open window to peer out to the long reaching light posts and there constant deterrent to the dark. That each time he closes his eyes he’s back there. His mentor, his father, teaching his trade in what would have looked like father/son bonding to any outside onlookers. But deep in the facade was a man grooming his successor. 

He snaps, from the memories, from the dark.

He slams his fist into the closest locker, denting it considerably. The eyes in the hall and in-class keep glancing at him. _Malcom Whitly is the son of a serial killer. _The words that the world heard and the city felt. They haunt his dreams and fill his nightmares. Most of his classmates pity him, the rest fear him. All their eyes ask about Martin Whitly. Everyone wants to know what he was like, their fear of him stops the questions. He’s thankful for that.

—

“**Malcom**.”

Malcom realizes that he’s standing there like a bump on a log, just kind of stuck. His mother looking at him, waiting for him to say something. She’s caught him by surprise. The very last thing he expected upon her entering his new apartment was a mothering tone filled with worry. The tone brings him back to an older memory of simpler times and it hurts his chest. 

She stands and she’s so much taller than he remembers. Thinner, too, but he imagines that’s got something to do with her newfound stresses. 

“**Malcom?**”

He tries not to tremble. Tremble from the attention, from how much he needs her to understand. How much he needs her and his father back. Being the perfect couple again. Back to the ideal childhood he clings on too. The false memories he’s conjured to replace the awful truth. But he knows that she’ll never see him the same. She’ll never love-

“**Oh, honey**.”

Now he’s standing in the living room, surrounded by boxes of his things, crying in his expensive university sweater. Tears streaming weakly down his face because he’s breaking. Breaking under the weight of the family sins. But Jessica closes the distance between them and wraps him up in her thin, warm arms and he cries that much harder. She’s so gentle and he’s not used to this side of her.

“**Calm yourself**.” she rubs his back, lets his tears soak her shirt and the warmth of her body soak into his cold heart. “**It’s Okay Malcom. It’s alright.**” Except it really isn’t and they both know that but when it comes to these grand moments, it doesn’t matter. “**We will get through this.**”

He opens his mouth and the only thing that comes out is a choke. He closes his eyes tight, hands trembling underneath a burning question he’s to afraid to ask. 

“**What’s wrong? Is something else bothering you?**” She keeps rubbing his back, trying to soothe his nerves down until she can make sense of his words. It’s his quick breaths that worry her the most. They sound exactly like what happens before a panic attack. “**I need you to talk to me, Malcom.**”

So he does. He tries. So hard. “**H-Him! M-Me! Am I...**” He hiccups, his breath caught in his chest. “**I’m going to become him?**”

Jessica stops. Her arms freeze, she can’t even breath. A thousand things come to mind. Each different. “**What do you mean Malcom?**”

Malcom untangles himself from her, trembling where he stands with anger dark in his eyes. It’s heartbreaking. “**He killed people! He’s a serial killer! I spent the better part of my childhood idolizing this man. Absorbing everything he taught me like it was Fucking gospel! What if-**“ A sob breaks his anger and he looks at her with the most broken eyes. So sad, just miserable. “**What if he only gave me the time of day because he wanted me to inherit his will? His legacy.**”

Jessica pulls him back, with a bit of a struggle on his part, but then he gives up. Leaning into her warmth. “**Malcom, I need you to listen to me. Okay?**” She takes a deep breath and turns his face to meet his eyes. “**What your father did, it’s not you. I need you to understand that.**” She would have added that Martins love for him was real, but in all honesty she wasn’t so sure herself.

Malcom refused to look up into her eyes. There was guilt in his heart. Guilt that he enjoyed his fathers time. Guilt that what his father taught was so easy for him to understand. As if it were second nature. And it scared him. Right there In that moment he was scared of himself and what he was capable of.

Years of education in a field where he literally chased the foot steps of his father. It all seemed like one huge mistake now.

”**But, what if it is?**” This was spoken in such a whisper one could have argued it had never been asked. But Jessica heard it and all the fear it implied. She tenderly placed both hands on his cheeks. This was such a knew thing for her. Being this motherly. She was surprised the muscle memory was still intact when it came to comforting her children. But she was thankful nonetheless.

”**If it frightens you this much dear, perhaps, it’s time you cut ties to him?**” She had to be very careful with how she brought up Martin Whitly in conversation with her son. She had lost him once. This could be the moment she gets him back. “**Prove to yourself you are not your father. Because _I_ know your nothing like him.**” She gave what she hoped was a genuine smile and hoped her words were encouraging.

The gears turning in Malcoms head were obvious. How would one prove he was nothing like his father? He had already spent so much of his young adult life closely tied with his fathers extra curricular activities.

Then it hit him.

What better way to catch a killer then to think like one. “**Your right mother. I will prove I’m nothing like him. I’ll dedicate myself to catching people like da- Dr Whitly.**” And with that sudden awakening to a new lease in life Malcom ran to his study and completely reimmersed himself in a book dedicated to the beginnings of profile work. Leaving Jessica to stew in her sons knew career choice.

She rolled her eyes in the absolute absurdity and obviousness of it all. ”**That’s, just perfect.**” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode One: “Good morning sunshine.”  
Episode Two: “Is that a parakeet?” “Yeah,... Don’t make it weird.”  
Episode Three: “let me remind you, you and that Parakeet are mere tenants.”  
Episode Four: “That damn Parakeet.”
> 
> ( Swear to god half of my obsession with this show and figuring out what that birds name is! XD )


	5. Gil Playing Father Vol.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s exactly what you think. I’ve had Gil and young Malcoms dynamic on the brain. But I had a hard time fleshing anything out to be considered what I wanted to be a proper chapter so I thought I’d just post the small fliclet’s together. There’ll probably be more at some point which I’ll name Vol.2 😊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m two weeks late. Like I said, I had a lot of ideas but nothing concrete I wanted to expand into proper chapters. Just small little potential Fics. But I decided something was better than nothing so here we are. Enjoy.
> 
> Also it’s important for everyone here to know, this is by far my favourite episode so far! He got friggen Drugged!! That heart to heart talk with Gil *clenches fist* is the good shit. (Probably why I was in such a Dad!Gil Son!Malcom mood) “let’s throw Axes!” Had me choking. The somber look when Malcom admits his difficulties making friends. It’s really funny that the first thing on Malcoms mind when he thinks about a food he actually wants to eat and not throw up is gods damn Crumble! This perfect human being, I swear.

1.

Of all the things Gil had expected when he responded to Malcoms distress text, a signal used so infrequently that Gil almost thought Malcom had hit it on accident, finding the young boy huddled over an injured Siberian husky and several puppies, trying to shield them from the pouring rain was not one of them. Gil couldn’t help but stare for several seconds before he pulled himself together and moved his coat off his person to drape over the dogs and Malcom, asking, “Can the mother be moved?”

Malcom nodded and replied, “I stitched her wounds, but she’ll require a proper veterinarian to make sure that she’s healthy.” He spoke softly as he began putting away the small medical instruments back in a small pouch which he then placed in his back-pack. “I couldn’t call mom, she would have-.”

Gil nodded not once mentioning the tools and directed Malcom to gather the six puppies while he picked the mother up carefully, carrying her to the car. He set her in the backseat and Malcom gently placed the puppies with her, then settled into the seat beside them as Gil draped his coat over them to keep them warm. Then he drove straight to his house wondering just what he was getting himself into.

—

The next morning, Gil awoke early and headed down to the living room, where he found the husky and her puppies, as well as Malcom. The sweet child had apparently been adopted by the huskies, as the mother was laying with one paw on his arm, the puppies nestled between them. The whole group was covered in a blanket and Gil only hesitated for a moment before he started taking pictures. 

As he watched, taking photo after photo, one of the puppies began stirring and squirming, tripping over its siblings as it tried to get up. Not wanting it to wake the others or Malcom, Gil hurried over and scooped the puppy up, cradling it in his arms. The puppy happily licked his hand, snuggling up against his chest as it’s tail wagged. Gil gently petted her head and she leaned into it even as he heard its stomach grumble. Malcom stirred, sitting up and yawning before sleepily greeting, “Morning Gil.”

Gil smiled and answered, “Good morning, Malcom.”

The mother stirred and lifted her head, sniffing at her puppies for a moment before she made an odd whining noise. Malcom counted the puppies, then stiffened and in a panic whispered, “Gil, one of the puppies is missing.”

Then he lifted his head to look at Gil, who walked over and gently set the puppy he was holding next to her mother. The puppy licked her mother’s nose as her mother sniffed her and Gil couldn’t help his laugh. Malcom slowly stood, stretching, and Gil stated, “Jackie has food and bowls for them. She thinks we should keep them if they don’t already have an owner.”

Malcom’s eyes lit up and Gil smiled down at this young innocent child, suggesting, “Only if they don’t already have a home.” Malcoms head droops only slightly. “Let’s go get them some food and water for now.”

Malcom led the way to the kitchen, quickly gathering the bowls and cans of food, leaving Gil to fill a pitcher with water to fill the water bowls.

2.

Well this was a stupid idea. 

Malcom stared blankly at the children's playground that was in front of him. "Gil?" Malcom asked the question with just one word. Without looking up at his pseudo father he could tell that Gil was torn between being amused and being unsure.

"Uh... I used to bring children I saved from unsavoury situations here when they were scared or overwhelmed."

Malcom slowly turned and look up so that he was making eye contact. “What makes you think that I am anything like them?" Malcom softly sneered at what he perceived as an insult that came along with the statement. With a slight roll of his eyes he murmured. "Take me home Gil. I don’t even know why you brought me here. Or even took me out today."

Gil sighed, "Now Malcom there is no need to be like that. You’re a young boy and should be able to act like the child that you are." (especially today) He thought. Gil reached forward and placed his hand on Malcoms shoulder while ignoring the look of hurt that flashed through the boys eyes before Malcoms guard was back up. 

"We’ll stay for a little while at least. It wont kill you." He turned Malcom around so that he was again facing the park.

"Want to go down the slide?"

"No."

"Want to go on the swings?"

"No."

"How about the monkey bars?"

"NO. I want to go home."

"How about the pool?" Gil questions unfazed by Malcom’s growing annoyance.

"I said N-...There's a pool?" Malcom blinks slowly and looks around "Where?" Gil smiles and leads him over to the outdoor pool. Malcom nodded his head in thanks as Gil hands him his swimming trunks out of the bag that Jackie had packed for them. 

Dashing into the local bathrooms Malcom quickly changes and runs out to the pool jumping in to attempt to splash everyone else.

Gil sat back in one of the lounge chairs watching his honorary son play in the water; Jackie was right to tell him to bring Malcom here. 

Gil crossed his arms and smiled as he waited for the inevitable phone call from Jessica telling him that his little kidnapping game was over. So for now it was a waiting game but at least he gets to watch Malcom be the kid he deserves to be.

If anyone deserved to just play, it was Malcom. Especially since today was the anniversary of his Fathers imprisonment. The last thing Gil wanted was the boy to be stuck home alone in that big empty house missing his dad.

—

Two hours later Gil felt his pocket vibrate. Pulling out his phone he saw the familiar name on the LCD. "Done?” Short, curt and impatient, just like Jessica. “Yeah. I’ll bring him home.” The phone immediately hung up.

Shutting off the screen on his phone and slipping it back into his pocket, Gil slowly made his way to the side of the pool “Malcom it's time to go."

Malcom pauses in his splashing, "Do we have to?"

"Afraid so buddy." Gil replies pulling a towel out of the bag. Malcom slowly gets out of the pool and grudgingly walks up to Gil taking the towel from him. Slipping his wet feet into his shoes and wrapping the towel around his waist he follows Gil back to the car. "Why couldn't we stay longer?"

"Because Jessi- cause your mom is worried about you and wants you back home." Gil could have sworn Malcom had rolled his eyes at the statement. But instead let out a long heavy sigh followed by a small smile. “It was fun while it lasted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a lot of chirping from our dear dear bird friend in the background all through the episode but no name drop unfortunately. Even on a manic drug high, Malcom ignores his feathered friend leaving us all again wondering it’s name. Sigh. Why do they do this to us?


	6. Mistakes Were Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some light hearted stuff that ends in oopsie daisies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I the only one who saw this kid and immediately thought “oh yeah that kids the killer and Malcom is going to struggle with the idea that that could have been him.”   
As obvious as it was, there version of a Halloween episode wasn’t that bad. I’ve seen worse. 
> 
> I’ve seen trailers for tomorrow’s episode, and I’m so friggen pumped. Both children in Martins pen? The possibilities are endless! I know there’s a killer inside and I’m just praying Malcom either protects Ainsley like the bad ass big bro he is, or the complete opposite of him shutting down in fear and Ainsley’s got to snap him out of it. And her finally seeing a fragment of what Malcom deals with everyday.

Gil was familiar with mail. Everyone, he thought, is familiar with mail. Despite this fact, he was completely and utterly stumped when amongst the regular bills, professional documents, and what-have-you’s was a lumpy, red envelope with the stamp on the wrong side and a smiley-face drawn after his addressed name.

“I don’t think this is from the electricity company…” he mumbled to himself. “What’s that honey?” Jackie hollered from the kitchen while she had a pancake sizzling on a pan. Gil would have sworn that his wife had super hearing with how low he had spoken just now. But he simply smiled. “It’s nothing.” Man he loved that woman. “Alright well, finish up with that mail, I’m making your favourite.”

A quick press around the envelope with his fingers was enough to tell him that unless it were made of card it was not, in fact, a bomb and would probably be safe to open. Shaking it briefly and hearing nothing that could be powder just reinforced the notion that it was indeed safe. Years on the job left little pockets of paranoia present in everyday life. But it kept him and his wife safe. 

Strolling from the living room to the desk in the back of the dining room, he seated himself comfortably, taking care when pulling out the metal letter opener in the novelty shape of a sword. The ridiculous jewel encrusted scabbard weighed like a pound and it made him chuckle every time he pulled it out. Jackie some how convinced him to buy it while they perused the shady gift shop in some small town in Brussels Belgium. A vacation spot they frequented. 

Slipping the sharp tiny sword between the adhesive glue and red paper, the sword slid along the outline of the envelope’s fold and he gently tugged at the card inside until he had successfully wriggled it out of it’s red encasing. 

“HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!” A pop-out on the front of the folded card read. Before he could even question which poor soul had mistaken him for a father, or the fact that Father’s Day was months ago, his eyes drifted down to the silly colourful sketch below of a police cap, flashlight and crudely drawn handcuffs.

Oh kid, he thought to himself as a smile grew across his face and a tight feeling sprang in his chest. After a moment of taking it all in, he carefully opened the card, making sure not to damage the glued on heading, and revealing the message Malcom had hand written for him.

“Dear Gil,  
Thank you for everything you done for me! Thanks for saving my little sister and my mom from my dad. I don’t know why dad did all those things, but maybe I can help him get better. Mom says dads a monster but dad says theres no such thing as monsters, so I’m not sure who’s right. Mom also said I can’t send a letter to dad for Father’s Day, so I decided to send one to you! My second dad! 

I know I’m not your real son, but Your the closest thing to a dad I have right now. So thanks and Happy Father’s Day from me! It’s Malcom by the way.”

The scribbled mess of letters were obvious signs that Malcom still very much had the tremors. Which made the the whole note look erratic. A tremor that was diagnosed to directly pertain to the repressed childhood of his fathers dark sided business. He recalled nothing of his fathers machinations. Nothing but the knowledge that his father would have killed Gil if he hadn’t spoken up and this “girl in the box” that they found no proof of ever existing.

There was a worrying realization that Malcom had confessed to seeing his father. He was so sure Jessica would have forbade such an encounter. Letting Martin Whitly get his hands on her precious child. He was surprised.

But that surprise was quickly replaced with the warm heat he felt under his cheeks. “My second dad...” the words echoed in his heart like no compliment ever could. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel the same way towards the kid. The night they rescued each other from Martin Whitly, Gil had always felt a sense of duty, a responsibility to the kid. Some twisted idea that since he took his father away, he’d have to replace that role.

It didn’t help that the kid was sweet and innocent. That he was kind and intelligent. Brave and well behaved. And, he saved his life. 

Gil pulled out his cell phone and pressed a number that was listed at the top of his favourites. A short pause of ringing commenced but was quickly replaced with a polite voice on the other line. “Whitly residence. How can I help you?”

“Yes, hello. This is Gil Arroyo, I was wondering if Malcom was available to talk to?” “Just one moment please.” There was a long pause that followed and Gil could just imagine the phone operator was probably speaking with Jessica. The pause seemed like it went on forever and there was a song playing in the background obvious sign he had been put on hold. But after a few moments the music abruptly stopped.“Young Malcom is available to talk to but I was told to inform you by the head of the house that you are only granted five minutes.” Yup. That sounds about right. “Alright. Thank you.”

More seconds pass and suddenly the buzzing noise of the phone shifted and the voice of a small child could be heard. “Hewwo Gil.”

“Why hello Ainsley, I’m guessing Malcom is in your room?” He spoke in a light hearted tone when he realized Ainsley picked up the phone. “Yea! He’s pwaying wego’s wit me!” 

“That’s great sweetie. Your very lucky to have such a good big brother.”

“Ya!”

“Do you think you can hand him the phone?” 

Sounds of the phone exchanging hands could be heard and then utter silence save for Ainsley playing with the LEGO bricks. “Hello Malcom.”

Silence.

“I got your letter. The Fathers day card? I know it’s a bit late. But I wanted to say thank you. I’m surprised and humbled that you think of me as a second dad.”

More silence.

“I read that you payed him a visit.”

Then suddenly guilt hit Gil so hard in the chest he would of sworn it left actual bruising. And a horrible realization surfaced. He only got the letter now, because the young kid sent the letter to the cottage. A weekend getaway him and his wife went to whenever he had three days to spare. He was supposed to be there for that Fathers day but a break in a case had cancelled those plans and they both hadn’t been there since. Until now.

“I’m so sorry Malcom. I forgot tha- You don’t have to talk if you don’t want too.” 

Again, no reply. 

It had now been four months since Malcom last spoke. From what Jessica explained his therapist concluded that the trauma he suffered finally hit him and in an act of self defence, Malcom completely shut down.

If Malcom hadn’t been on the other end listening, Gil would have sighed apologetically. But he kept any sounds that could be construed as negativity away from the heavily auditory conversation. Last thing he wanted to do was make Malcom feel worse then he probably was. 

With his stupid idea to call him months after Father’s Day and bringing up his father. Gil could not have felt more dumb.

“Again I’m so sorry Malcom. Do... do you remember sending me that letter?”

There’s was no reply again but this time there was no sounds of lego’s in the background either. Then a hard sound of the phone hitting the floor. 

“Mawcom? Wats wong?” He could barely hear Ainsley's voice as the small child crawled to her brothers side. “Dont cway mawcom. Where Does it huwt?” 

And then he could hear it. 

The door slamming open. 

The rapid sound of high heels. 

And then the phone being picked up. “Don’t you ever call my son again. Do you hear me?!” Followed by the phone hanging up. 

Leaving Gil standing there dumbfounded as the sound of the dial tone filled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course no bird name mentioned today. Makes sense. Still disappointed though.

**Author's Note:**

> Come on Prodigal Son!! What’s the Parakeets name?! We wanna know!


End file.
